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by cmshaw



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Give Neville Blow Jobs, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-22
Updated: 2007-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Weasley twins make <em>special</em> deliveries.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Commentfic for mizzmarvel's "[Give Neville Blow Jobs Meme](http://mizzmarvel.livejournal.com/508236.html)", originally posted there.

"Now, Neville," said Fred, or possibly George --

"If you are Neville," said George, or possibly Fred.

"Right, or whoever you are, you know that we need to check your identity before handing over this crate of _high valuable_ supplies." Fred waggled his eyebrows.

"I'm Neville Longbottom, Fred," Neville protested, in case they really meant it. "You've known me for years. I had a toad named Trevor. I'm with Dumbledore's Army."

"Oh, any Death Eater _would_ say that, wouldn't they, George?" Fred said.

"Quite so, Fred," George answered. "So go on, test him." He crossed his arms and leaned against the big wooden crate marked DANGER: HILARITY INSIDE.

Fred finished unbuttoning Neville's robes and grinned up at him from where he'd slid to his knees as soon as Neville had arrived at the pub. "Alright then, Neville or whoever, let me have a taste."

Neville was _sure_ his face was bright red. Not only could he feel it burning hot, but two deliveries ago they'd actually made the exchange in a boy's bathroom in Hogwarts and he'd seen his own face in the mirror glowing a more vivid red than the hair on the bobbing head of the boy on his knees (George, that time, or so he thought). Still, he was getting a little bit used to it and it was so much better than a Canary Cream that he'd really stopped looking for the humiliating punchline and just gone with it -- like he did now, sticking his hand into his trousers and pulling out his prick, offering it on his open hand to Fred's mouth.

"Mmm," Fred said as he closed his lips around the crown of it and sucked, and Neville locked his knees and tried not to groan.

"How's it taste, then?" George said. When Neville flicked his glance over, George was grinning lazily.

Fred pulled his mouth away with a wet popping noise, like a tiny Disapparition. The crown of Neville's prick was shiny, and Neville closed his eyes and thought firmly about splinching and didn't shriek when he could _feel_ the air from Fred saying, "It's a match so far, but I'd better be sure."

"Of course, of course," George was probably saying, but Fred's mouth was back around Neville's prick and the backs of Neville's knees were sweaty and shaky now. Splinching, Neville reminded himself. Fred wrapped his hand around the base of Neville's prick and started moving hand and mouth together in a harsh kneecap-shattering rhythm. Flobberworms, Neville thought desperately. Fanged Geraniums. Flesh-eating slugs. Fucking Fred Weasley's mouth with the heat and the vibrating moans and the tongue that wouldn't stop moving--

Distantly, Neville heard himself saying, "Oh, _oh_, OH!" and George saying, perhaps in response, "Oh yeah, that's the stuff, mate," but it wasn't particularly important. Nothing short of You-Know-Who could be as important as Fred Weasley's mouth at that moment in time. Every time Neville shuddered he could feel himself sliding inside of Fred's mouth and over his tongue, which made him shudder more; he was a little afraid and a little hopeful that he'd never stop, although eventually, like always, he did.

"Mmm," Fred said again, and slid his mouth away with a much wetter sound this time. Neville opened his eyes. Fred licked his lips, winked at him, and turned toward George. "That's good old Neville," he said, and rocked back on his heels to stand up. "You want to check for yourself?"

"What, shouldn't I trust my own brother?" George said with a grin.

"Oh, go on, don't say I wouldn't share," Fred said, tipping his face to the side and sticking out his chin.

George laughed and licked his brother's cheek, running his tongue through the line of spunk stretching from the corner of Fred's mouth. He made a show of leaning back and smacking his lips thoughtfully. "Yup," he said finally, "I think you're right, Fred. That's Neville for sure."

Fred clapped his hands. "Right then, Neville!" he said. "Here's the delivery for Dumbledore's Army, sign here," and he thrust a clipboard into Neville's no longer shaking hands. Neville took the attached quill, rapidly shook it three times to prevent it from turning into a rubber chicken -- George and Fred both laughed -- and signed the bottom of the page. Fred was scrubbing his face clean with a handkerchief while Neville signed, and by the time Neville was done he looked as proper as ever, which wasn't terribly proper but wasn't endangering Neville's knees any longer either. "And we're off! Lots of Order business, you know."

And Fred and George tipped him a wink and a grin before popping away.


End file.
